Seven Years
by La Maddalena
Summary: It's just a new place for an old flame. Over seven years, Lu Xun learns. / Boyan/Sun Ce's daughter. Drabble series, requestfic.
1. First Year

Originally a request that took me forever and a day to get started with! from Xiaoniao on WoM. I started mucking around with ideas for it, and liked the one I finally decided to use that I decided to turn it into this: my second vignette series. 

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Seven Years  
_First Year_**

You remind me of your mother.

It didn't seem like it so much when you were a little girl, so light that, without _too_ much effort on my part, I could carry you on my shoulders and tickle the soles of your feet. You would be a grand lady then, and I your faithful steed, traversing to the riverside to pick flowers and string into a crown for your hair. If we were lucky, there might have been some left to bring home to mama or Lady Sun, when the day was over.

But now that you're older (though not by a great deal) and claim to be grown up, I can already find traces of her there. It's the way you run your fingers through your hair- too long, the elders say, to be kept down- and the candle-glow throws a soft brilliance upon your head, dancing with the shadows. It's the way you incline your head at me when I ask you a question as if you were an equal and not a child, with that funny expression on your face, delicate and polite, a little confused.

Except for your eyes, which are always aware. Your father's eyes.

Still, you are like her. So very much like her.


	2. Second Year

_**Second Year**_

Twelve times now the men have harvested their yearly crops since you were born. Another couple of harvests and your uncle Quan will have to start looking critically at all the young men who speak to you.

Do you know the state he was in when he couldn't find you in your chambers this morning? He pulled me away from my work to go looking for you. Naughty girl.

But perhaps he doesn't know you as well as he should. I found you in a moment, dancing in the gardens to music only you could hear, the hems of your too-long robes rippling about your ankles. You turned, calling giddily to me over your shoulder, lost in an eddying pool of girlish fantasy and euphoria that, perhaps, pulled me in deeper than I realized. I heard your laughter, but with her voice, and your footsteps, but with her feet.

I loved her, you know. In the way a vassal loves his lady, because I could do no more, and she deserved no less. You seem like you understand that as you twirl your way over to me and take both my hands in yours. They're warm. What you say, however, startles me. So childlike, simple, yet so certain…

"Someday, I'm going to marry you."


	3. Third Year

**_Third Year_**

My dear, I do believe you'll be the death of your uncle. Did you see the look on his face when you revealed that crazy notion of yours? I honestly believed his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Frankly speaking, I don't blame him either. After all, how many years do you have to your name, Ren?

Thirteen. At thirteen, young men till fields, and dream of glory. They don't bother thinking about what can be done to attain it. At thirteen, girls begin to express an interest in the petty, pretty ornaments that make heads turn, and _not_ in the study of strategy or of wielding a weapon. It's almost completely unheard-of.

You must understand his concern. He cares about you so much that he'd probably send his whole army to reinforce you, should you so much as dash a foot against a stone. And it's at this time where we need all our forces the most. We couldn't possibly spare someone to look after you, though- deny it as you may- you do need looking after.

Yet, perhaps I should have foreseen this. You are your father's daughter, after all. You have too much of his blood in you to allow yourself to be groomed into some nameless warlord's bride and not have something contrary to say about it…

_"Xun, please?"_

"No," I should say. A flat, straight "No." It's what I know my master wants me to say. I'm guessing he knew you were going to come to me, expecting… what? Encouragement? Maybe. Probably.

I don't think he knows just how right he was. Then again, he's probably never realized just how difficult it is to refuse you when you ask for things. You have everything you desire before you ask… almost.

Maybe this time around, we won't tell him. Just for a year or two.


	4. Fourth Year

**_Fourth Year_**

"You could have at least given him a chance, you know."

Ahead of me, your horse slows its mad gallop, and I silently thank my stars. The road winds uphill from where we stand, the ground slippery with mud from a recent rain. One missed step could send us both plunging to our deaths.

You turn in the saddle. I don't know if I should be irritated or elated at the fact that your face is flushed with excitement, without the stormy defiance that will be forever be your first suitor's only impression of you. I'm almost sorry that he can't see you like this, unbridled and beautifully free. But that, I suppose, is his loss.

"Oh, Xun!" You laugh as I guide my black mare forward. "Don't you love this path? It's so… _clandestine." _The sound is liquid gold and flower petals, laced with something I can't explain. "Such a pretty word, no?"

I clear my throat, grasping in vain at my last strands of tried-and-tested propriety. "It's a lovely path, my lady. But…"

"Don't call me 'my lady!'" You're suddenly scolding, leaning across the short gap between us to tap me reproachfully on the nose. "Especially in private! I'm just Ren."

"Ren." Why is the sound suddenly harder to form than it was when you were a little girl? "You're not a child anymore." I don't mean for the words to sound so clipped and final, but I'm tired. Forgive me?

I realize my wrong move a second too late.

"And you're just a stuffy old man who's wasting what's left of his youth in windowless rooms full of dusty books," you retort, tapping me again. "You and Uncle. That's all you do. Yak yak yak about politics and war, and try to marry me off to this scholar or that so I'm out of your way…

"Well, would it kill you to think about how a lady feels for a change?" ends your tirade, sooner and more gently than I expected. "Isn't that more… polite?"

"I'll be sure to mention it to your uncle when we return, my lady."

"Xun." Your hand, calloused from countless afternoons practicing with the sword under the burning sun, brushes the side of my face. Your voice is contrite all of a sudden. "I'm sorry for running off. I'll try not to do it again. Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." I only just resist the inexplicable urge to lean into your touch, like a kitten mewling to be stroked. "I'm sorry. I misspoke."

Why don't you withdraw your hand?


	5. Fifth Year

_**Fifth Year**_

For the first time in forever, my lord has said nothing to me of war. He did not come to me today, asking that plans be drawn up for him in preparation for our next battle against an all-too-familiar adversary. He did not seek my advice. I received only one order, with a smile on the side.

"Go take a rest, Lu Xun."

Well, I certainly don't intend to disobey him.

For the first time in forever, I find myself with time on my hands that I don't know how to spend. Perhaps I'll take this day to lie out on one of the secluded cliffs above the harbor, and remark to myself, as the poets do, about how lovely the green line of sea that stretches to meet the blue sky is. Perhaps I'll muse a little on how it makes them look as if they whisper secrets to each other, or why the gulls sound like they actually have something to say. Then, when I arrive home, I'll fill a book with all my thoughts that are of no particular importance, but of the greatest importance because of that.

Or, perhaps, I'll just bring a jug of wine out here, stretch out on the grass still damp with dew, and think about nothing at all. There is where true poetry lies, in silence, good wine…

And you.

I drift from the warm numbness of my sunlight-and-wine-induced doze to see your face hovering over mine. Somehow, I'm not startled in the least.

"Oh, hello."

You beam back at me. "Hello. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm only sorry I didn't wake sooner."

"Oh, no." Your words have an almost childlike candor to them, still. I thank my stars that it's one of the few things that _hasn't _changed. "You should never pull someone away from his dreams."

It takes a considerable amount of effort to shake off the drowsiness and prop myself up on my elbow, facing you. "How did you know I was dreaming?"

"How can you lie in a place like this and not dream?" Your eyes dance, almost as if you know what I was dreaming of. A part of me hopes you don't.

Another part, stronger and perhaps more sensible, doesn't care.

"Mm. Fancy that." I laugh softly, low in my throat. "You know, Ren. I believe… After all these long years, I am finally… learning."

"Learning, Xun?"

'_Learning to look at you and stop seeing her. Learning to see your eyes, and hear your laughter, and feel you when we pass each other and graze shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps, finally, I'm learning to know you._

_But, ahh, you don't have to know any of that.'_

I merely wave away your query, careless as I am seldom allowed to be. "Yes, learning."

You fall silent after that, understanding tugging at the corners of your lips in a half-smile, half-secret. You say nothing more. Yet you stay.


	6. Sixth Year

**_Sixth Year_**

Suddenly it occurs to me that I'm not a boy anymore. My heart, beating frantic and pained within my breast, tells me that I can't keep playing with death. My head, amidst a fit of reeling almost-nausea, says that I'm no longer playing. I no longer have any senior officers to guide my mind and my hand, no one to question for my missteps but myself.

We knew that an army raised on anger is doomed to fail. What we never counted on was the strength of anger, and of desperation. We never counted on the fact that it could breed determination faster than light.

"We're not going to die, Xun."

I turn my head to where you kneel at my side, though the effort only makes it throb harder. A bead of sweat rolls into my eyes, stinging. The words that pour out of my mouth in tremulous streams are not mine, or no more mine than I mean them to be.

"We're _not_ going to die, my lady? Surely not!" My knees buckle beneath me, sending me sprawling to the ground. "It was a brilliant idea to charge into this maze unescorted! Absolutely brilliant!" I throw my head to the smoke-fogged sky and laugh, the long, loud laugh of a man who feels he is lost. "Heavens above, lady, have you learned nothing?"

You bite down on your lower lip, sheathing Savage Tiger to cradle your injured arm close to your chest. I must say, your grandfather's sword fits your hand quite well; it's almost as if it were a living creature, all too eager to do your bidding. It's a pity he will never see you wield it.

_It's a pity you won't live to see her master it,_ come the gray whispers of Despair. I close my eyes and utter a silent prayer, for forgiveness, perhaps, or guidance. Or maybe even luck. Sheer blind luck.

"I misjudged the enemy," you say at last. "I'm sorry. But we can't despair now. There must be a way out."

"A way out! Would we find a way out, truly? Every turn looks the same to me…" My laugh turns into a cough and I double over, drawing in a sharp breath. "We're not leaving here alive."

Your hand strikes me across the face, again and again, the sharp slap of skin against skin reverberating in the eerie silence. The pain serves to bring me back to my senses, somewhat, and for one disorientating second, everything becomes clear.

"Stop acting so spoiled, you idiot! Think of everything you have left to do!" A faint spark of pain dances in your eyes. "Mother would be disappointed in you if you died here."

"I no longer have your mother, Ren." I shake my head, but force myself to my feet nonetheless. "I lost her a long time ago."

"Maybe so." You smile wanly, drawing your sword. Your free arm hangs twisted at an odd angle. We're going to have to fix that if- when we get out of here.

"But you still have me."

"I still have you?" I turn a corner, right into a clump of soldiers bedecked in green livery. I pray that means we're getting close to the other side, and dispatch them quickly. The adrenaline courses steadily through my veins like liquid fire. A returning smile, warm and sure and gradual, tugs at the corners of my lips. "Yes. I'd forgotten that I haven't yet asked your uncle for your hand… But perhaps I should ask the lady herself first, if it would suit her to marry this lowly peon? Would that be more polite?"

I hear the air hiss as Savage Tiger leaves the scabbard, assuring me that you'll do a fine job of covering my back. But what I don't expect is the sound of bodies hitting the ground with a muted thud. Puzzled, I turn…

…only to find the men dead around you, and you yourself unconscious from what might be blood loss, pain or shock. I can't tell which.

There's light up ahead. I can hear the shouts of men, and almost think in my own fatigue that I can distinguish familiar voices among them, my lord's not least of all. He probably won't be happy about this; I can only wonder what he'll say to my little proposal. But all in good time, I suppose. All in good time.

After all, it only took me the better part of six years.

**_To Be Continued_**


	7. Seventh Year

_**Seventh Year**_

I'm getting too old for this.

I know it's a funny thing for me to say. I'm a young man still, not too long grown out of boyhood, really. By all rights, I ought to be in my prime, at the height of my strength.

Still, if I spare a moment to raise my eyes from where they squint at the blurring ink before me, and lean lightly back to rest my head against the wall, I almost imagine I can hear my spine creaking with the effort. The years have aged me in so many ways that I cannot hope to name them all, and I am tired.

"Boyan, Boyan…"

Someone's tapping at the door, first once, softly. Then twice, more insistently, and the voice that I nearly mistook for the whisper of a ghost sounds again.

"Lu Xun!'

The door creaks open when I fail to respond. You tiptoe in on little cat-feet, swathed in so many layers to keep the cold at bay that it takes me more than a moment to make out your face.

"R-Ren!" I swallow the lump that's suddenly made its way up into my throat, scrabbling like a peon for what remains of my dignity in this state, at this time of night. "W-what are you doing here! Shouldn't you be in bed?"

A childish giggle issues from the cocoon.

"You ought to be in bed, too."

"I know." I sigh. "But I can't sleep."

"Why is that?" You make yourself comfortable on the cushion next to mine, smoothing the fabric in your lap absentmindedly. You take up one of the many sheaves of paper strewn on the table before us, examining it with a critical eye. "You're scribbling again. It's not because of tomorrow, is it?"

Tomorrow? It must have been one of the last things I was thinking about, yet at that instant it hits me like a blacksmith's mallet, and the same ear-piercing ring stirs a clatter inside my head. Tomorrow. How in all of Heaven and Earth could it have slipped my mind! Yet, somehow, in spite of all this, I manage to answer fairly calmly.

"…Maybe."

"Are you scared?"

Scared? Of marriage? Of marriage to you, of all people? I don't know. Sometimes it's difficult to think of you in that light, even after all that has happened. Can you blame me, truly? You were a charge first, a shared responsibility between your uncle and I, before a friend, before a love.

It's funny how things can change so quickly. You barely even notice that something is different…

I can only sigh again, and shake my head.

"…A little, maybe."

"Oh." You rest your head against my tensed shoulder, and it relaxes a little under the comfort of the weight. "That's okay. I am, too. Just a little." You pause, as if you're unsure whether to go on, but you do anyway. You always have. "Xun?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"You knew mama and papa for a little while. Do you think they felt like this before they got married? All jittery, I mean."

A moth dances close to the lamp on the window sill, hovering without touching the flame, as if it's more intelligent than most of its kind. I barely catch your words, transfixed as I am at the sight of it. I can't help but think now that the two of them—your mother whom I loved beyond words, and your father who loved her more still—have faded from my mind, these seven years, as if I've finally… I've finally learned to let them go, bless their souls.

"I imagine so, Ren," I say at last.

You smile, and nod, and say no more. The moth, miraculously, leaves the flame for the night.

Maybe that's as it should be.

_**Fin**_


End file.
